


and treat those two impostors just the same

by bucky_bunny_teeth (buckybunnyteeth)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky is messed up and so is Steve, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Happy Ending, Identity Issues, Multi, Post CATWS, fluffy/ansty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybunnyteeth/pseuds/bucky_bunny_teeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or Five Times total strangers made Bucky Barnes feel more human, plus one time it was all Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and treat those two impostors just the same

"Do you know what is the greatest gift anyone can receive in his lifetime? The greatest gift we can receive is to have the chance, just once in our lives, to make a difference. Do you understand how many times you made a difference? Enough for a hundred lifetimes."  
\- Doctor Strange (speaking to Peter Parker)

(1)

After the river the Soldier lost himself. The Soldier of Hydra was free and dripping wet in a world he had never truly lived in. If he was even truly alive. He was left in a world he did not know how to navigate as a person, only as a tool to a greater aim.

The Soldier walked. And walked, and hid and survived and attempted to forget the face of the man from the Bridge. The blue eyed man who had refused to kill him, who had looked into his eyes with such hope it had burned. Who had named him.

Weapons don’t get names. Assets do not get names. Names were for things that mattered, things that where not made of shadow and dwelt in the cold. Names had meaning and weight and emotions, and they were not for the Soldier.

Bucky.

Bucky.

Bucky.

The name and the face and the horrid light of a free world had overpowered him after a month or two. The man’s voice, clear and crisp as though he was standing beside him, echoed over and over again in the Soldiers mind. He let his feet take him to the Smithsonian. He let his feet take him to a mural of his face and name and death. And he stopped.

He couldn't go on. His entire history of before he had been an object lay before him, everything that had been scrubbed our before that was now slowly trickling in. But … but none of that mattered. The Soldier couldn’t keep himself from staring at the moving image of a man with his face smiling at the man from the bridge as though he was his entire world, the sun after an endless rainstorm. Their faces split with grins as they laughed silently, their arms twisted around each other as if they wouldn’t be able to stand alone. 

Steve. His name was Steve, and at one point he had been the Soldiers home.

…

He had known for months that the Falcon and the … Steve, were following his movements- albeit enough steps behind to keep them safe from him. But after all he had seen at the Smithsonian, all the chatty guard had explained to him, and all the twisting of his gut had taken its toll on the Soldier. His hands would not stop itching and every time he closed his eyes he saw images that were supposed to have died years ago along with James Buchanan Barnes. He was slipping out of control and it terrified him.

No one was going to catch him this time, no handler or tack team was going to show up and whisk him away to become blissfully blank. He was on his own for the first time in his life.

His feet, being the only things still functioning through all his turmoil, eventually gave out in front of a large pool of water in Washington DC. He knew that the location was culturally important in some way, but he couldn't find the will to retrieve the memory file for it. What was the point of it? No one was giving him orders so why care … why do anything at all?

He felt his hands ball themselves into fists in his stolen pants as he gazed out at the body of water. He couldn't process himself let alone anything else. He was lost and alone and he couldn't … he just couldn't.

The Soldier was broken from his trance with the pool of water when as small warm hand settled on his shoulder. Everything in him screamed to grab and break and snap- … but he had no orders. He stayed still and moved his head to stare up at the person who had made the mistake of approaching him.

Only it wasn't a person. Well it was a person, but not a full person. Not yet.

A small boy, face mostly hidden behind thick rimmed glasses stood before him, his face puffy and red. He was fair haired and chubby limbed and dressed in a too big shirt printed with an image of the blue eyed man's shield. His small hand was pressed to the Soldiers shoulder, unafraid and unknowingly covering the bright red star that he hated so much.

“Are you okay mister?”

The Soldier squinted his eyes at the boy for a moment before shaking his head. He didn't feel at all comfortable so close to the small, breakable human.

The boy bit his lip and patted his shoulder.

“Hmm... are you hungry?”

The Soldier was, but he had long ago been trained not to recognise or be effected by such things. But he saw no reason to lie to the boy. He nodded.

The boys face lit up and he squealed before turning on his heel and running away. The Soldier frowned. Children are strange.

He had not been alone five minutes before the boy returned, glasses jumping about as he hurriedly led an adult over to where the Soldier sat by the pool. The grown up was also wearing a shirt with the man from the bridge's shield printed on it.

“See Mamma, I found someone!” The boy chirped as they came closer and closer, “I told you I would!”

“I can see that, Danny. Please never run off like that again, it scared Mommy half to-oh!”

The woman, just as blonde and glasses clad as her son, let out the exclamation at the sight of the soldier. His stomach burned, and he found himself wondering if this was what self conciousness was.

“See Mommy, this man needs our help.”

The woman gripped the small boys hand tighter as she assessed the Soldier.

“Hello,” she spoke after a moment, voice as unsure as he eyes, “I am sorry for my son to have bothered you-”

The Soldier shook his head. The child was not a bother. Mind wipes and bullet wounds were bothers, not the harmless attention of a child. She bit her lip and continued.

“Its just I run a company that helps people on the street, and Danny wanted to give out sandwiches too, and the- …” she took a breathe, “He is a little over eager sometimes.”

“Mummy, he needs a sandwiches!”

Bucky felt his face move at the childes exclamation, and what ever it formed must have satisfied its mother because she relaxed and smiled down at him hesitantly.

“Of course, where is my head. If you will come with me I will get you paired with a sandwich right away!”

The Soldier let out a breathe. Finally some orders.

Within the next five minutes he found himself inside a large truck, painted in garish colours and characters. The woman had given him some new clothes to change into, a pair of medical scrubs and a shirt identical to hers and the boys. The child became an unstoppable talking machine, informing the Soldier through the change room door that Captain America was his mothers hero, and that she had dedicated her organisation to him as a thank you. He didn't say what for, but the pamphlets about returned soldiers inside the change room and the dog tags around her neck made it all clear to the Soldier. She was a healer and for the next few moments the Soldier would let himself be her patient.

After his old clothes were thrown away (all except the mildly clean jacket he needed to cover his metal arm) he was ushered to a seat outside and given a plate piled high with sandwiches. His hands reached out on their own volition to take them, but he paused and waited for the woman to nod before he took one. Around him several others where in a similar state as him, but he couldn't look at them. It was like a switch had been flicked in his brain, his hunger was suddenly crippling and he pushed sandwich after sandwich down his throat. The boy was delighted.

After the plate was gone and another full one had been disappear as well the woman took a seat in front of him. Here eyes were stern and sad. The Soldier wanted to run but couldn't find the will to leave the small safe place he had been dragged to.

“One of my policies is that I don't ask too many questions,” she spoke low and serious as the boy ran off to latch onto the legs of another woman from the truck, “That stuff is for groups and meetings and people with qualifications. But … I can see that you are barely holding it together. Trust me I know what it looks like.

So I am going to break my rule just this once. You don’t have to answer, you don’t owe me anything … but I have a feeling you need help I cant give.”

The Soldier stared for a long moment before nodding, heated horrible feeling settling down low in his stomach again.

“Okay,” she breathed, “Do you have a name.”

His lips moved but no sound came. When was the last time he had even thought about talking. His face and stomach burned as he struggled, hands balling into fists on his legs and he just tried to say-

“James.”

It came out jagged and too rough. But it came out without the blood and pain he had associated with admission. And it made the woman smile.

“James. Okay that’s very good,” She pushed another sandwich towards him, cheese and salad and runny pickles, “Okay James… do you have a home?”

He frowned. He had a base of operations. He had a map of locations in his head that were safe places to hide, places to never be found and places to take lives. He had images of snow topped mountains and warehouses that were somehow colder then them. He had places that he had been in, but no place he had belonged in. None of them were his home. He didn't have anything.

But someone had him.

“Yes. I… I don't know,” his voice broke and creaked, “- how to … get back.”

The woman squinted.

“Do you know the address?”

He had the file stored in his mind, so he nodded. She smiled.

“Do you want me to take you there?”

Again he nodded, mind not even comprehending dangers or consequences of trusting the woman before him. Mind not even thinking. He was listening to his gut now, there was no going back.

“Well James,” she announced as she stood, “Lets get you back to where you belong.”

Steve.

(2)

Needless to say the recently re-assembled Avengers were surprised to see the Winter Soldier delivered to Stark Tower by a brightly dressed woman and a small child. They hadn't seen it coming, but the look of absolute shock and hope on Steve's face stayed their tongues for a while. Long enough for the little boy swinging from Barnes' metal arm to get photos and autographs. 

The woman, Linda, told them her short story of how she had agreed to take Barnes home. How he had refereed to his home as 'him' for a split moment before freezing up during the car ride and how he had looked like a little lost boy every time she made him a sandwich. How he had unconsciously stood between her son and anyone within a three meter radius. 

But Linda and her small son were gone just as quickly as they had come, promising to visit, leaving the team with a broken super assassin standing in the lobby of Stark tower. 

That had been three weeks ago. Three painful weeks had passed so unforgivably slowly.

In those three weeks he was kept under a constant surveillance on a secluded floor of the tower, no one coming or going save Stark's A.I, and Steve (through an intercom without a screen). It was like being placed in cryogenic stasis again. 

He couldn't leave, he was pretty sure that J.A.R.V.I.S was set to shoot if he attempted to leave. He had two changes of clothes and a television, neither of which he touched, and absolutely no means of communication outside of the monitored intercom. He wasn't in control and it felt like a cursed blessing. He didn't have to do anything, but his skin was beginning to feel too tight and the nightmares that bought the memories were increasing.

The Sol- … Barnes found himself on the top floor of Stark Tower those three weeks later, bearing witness to the Avengers having an argument all about him. Sitting at a counter behind the arguments and quietly stuffing his face full of J.A.R.V.I.S recommended cereal. He had adapted to stranger situations, he was sure.

They had reached a stand still, all of them tense and agree except for Bruce and Thor who were determined to keep their heads above the emotional din that was mostly being generated by the Captain and Stark.

“All I am asking for is a chance for him to be rehabilitated, to be able to become a man again and not a hydra play thing.”

“Its been Seventy years, Steve. He has made it more than obvious he is not the buddy you lost- what he needs is a 24/7 guard in the best hell hole our government has. And that would be being kind.”

“I am not about to let that-”

“-this is how a horror movie starts, Cap. You invite the mangy looking mutt into your home out of pity, them the next thing you know its hunting you through poorly lit hallways. We have no idea why he is here, other then the fact that you seem to be a magnet to the Tin Man.”

“He is a human being, Tony. He-”

“-Cyborg actually, technically.”

Asset. Weapon. Tool. Cyborg was new.

“-deserves a chance to remember that.”

“And how exactly did he earn this chance? Was it when he shot Fury, or further back when he killed my parents-”

“You know damn well he was being used, Tony. You don’t get to-” 

“No, no I do get to, Rogers. I know a thing or two about weapons and that man is more dangerous to us than anything my company ever built.”

“Yeah, you are an expert on weapons Stark. What I don’t understand is why you are ready and rearing to destroy the gun and ignore the hand that pulled the trigger.” 

The noise cut out suddenly, all sound disappearing except for the small enthusiastic sounds Barnes was making as he slurped up the chocolate flavoured cereal. His head was bowed so his hair was shielding his face from the rest of the room. He knew the Widow had moved over to him, knew that she was standing on the other side of the counter while everyone else in the room held their breath. She hadn't so much as looked at him for the two hours he had been free from his stasis, keeping a far distance and a line of sight on him at all times. She was the first person to draw a weapon on him three weeks ago and he distantly wondered if she would also be the last. He wouldn't blame her, depending on how the team ruled he might even ask her. 

Barnes raised his head, taking in the petite killing machine before him. No not machine, he was a machine. The Widow was an expert, an artist. She was no tool.

He raised and eyebrow, still relishing in the fact that his face was beginning to move at his will again instead of being fixed.

“What is your objective.”

It wasn't a question is was an order and Barnes' gut lurched forwards at the command in her voice. He dropped the spoon in the bowl (ignoring the way it made her relax her shoulders back) and pushed his shoulders back in the chair.

“I don’t understand.”

“Why have you come here. Explain the objective of your actions.”

Barnes frowned. Wasn't is obvious why he was there? His eyes flicked to Steve, who was looking on with a face that reminded him of old brick and the smell of fish oil. Couldn't they see what he had become?

“Explain.” 

Barnes opened his mouth to reply and heard his own voice catch. Weakness. He was getting more of those. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“The Master is dead, not by my hands. My mission isn't over,” he nodded to Steve, “I refuse to end it. My orders were clear; kill the captain and go back to stasis ...” he didn't hear or feel the shuddering breath he let out then, “Hydra is in the light. A Ghost is not needed. I am obsolete, a weapon to be decommissioned. Standing orders to exterminate myself apply to this situation … but I cant pull that trigger either. I am broken.” 

The Widow leant her hands down on the counter.

“Why could you not complete your mission?”

A question. Not as debilitating. He couldn't get lost in a question.

“I can not kill Captain America.”

“Why?”

“Because that would eliminate Steve Rogers. Because it contradicts standing orders.”

“What standing orders?”

He swallowed, mouth suddenly too dry, and paused for a moment as his throat refused to spit out-

“I have to take care of him... for Sarah.”

The back of the fancy couch snapped under the stress grip of the Captain (throwing Hawkeye on his ass with an undignified yelp). He looked terrified. His eyes were wide, his breathing shallow and his entire body was hunching in on itself as if it was trying to be smaller. Thor moved across the room, hand steady on the super soldiers back, ready to catch him.

Natasha stuck out her jaw. 

“Do you intend to threaten the safety and security of this team and its more vulnerable connections?”

He shook his head.

“You are here to do what exactly?”

Barnes frowned.

“I am broken.” the ex-super assassin finally managed to breathe out after a moment, “I am a risk. I need to be fixed... or put down.”

The Widow straightened up, hair flicking with effortlessly taught grace as she turned to face Stark and Rogers. Barnes had no idea what they were saying to each other as they didn't speak at all, his mind was slow and sluggish. He was too long out of the ice and it was making him tired and weak, his mind was a traffic jam with a constant hum and he couldn't find enough energy to act smart in the hostile situation. He was entirely at their mercy.

“You have your answer,” Natasha spoke crisply to the others, “And my opinion. Now you have sufficient knowledge to pass judgement.”

No one said anything to follow up the Widows statement, all in the room watching as she coolly picked Hawkeye up of the ground and took him with her as she strutted out of the room. Barnes could tell from the pointed looks they were throwing around that they did want to continue their discussion on him, but he could tell he would not be there to witness it. 

Saying what he was thinking out loud to the group left Barnes feeling cold, the itch returning to his skin as he tried to look smaller where he sat. He wanted to be on his own, to be alone and try to make the cold leave his bones and convince himself again that he was human. The others long looks and cold eyes were making him feel more and more like 'the asset' with each passing second. Steve’s were the worst. They were too much, too emotional and they made Barnes' whole body feel like it was pushing in on its self, like he was too small and too big at the same time. 

He was saved by J.A.R.V.I.S announcing that there was a situation down town that needed the teams attention. Within moments he was left to himself in blessed silence, with nothing but the ghost of a longing look from Steve. 

But his body was still shaking, his skin too tight and his breathing cutting the inside of his lungs like knives. He was falling apart, he was thawing out and it was terrifying.

He needed to pull himself out of stasis.

…

He didn't know where he was going, it had been so long since Barnes had walked these streets. If he had walked these streets. He wasn't in Brooklyn, he was in the city, ambling his way through the throngs and lulls of people that all seemed so much more sure of their steps then he did of his. All of them talking or eating as they walk absurdly fast around him. It was strange, but it was better then the solitude he was trying to forget.

But it was hard to forget when he felt so exposed. Upon being taken into the tower Stark had immediately taken to the task of 'disarming' him. Literally. Barnes was left with nothing but a stump, the half length of an upper arm. 

Everyone who passed by him glanced at it, unable not to see it because of his muscle shirt, and Barnes watched as their faces either clouded in sadness or pity, or entirely shifted into revulsion. He wasn't offended, but he wondered if they would be more repulsed by what usually covered it?

Amongst these people Barnes walked and walked and walked, until the streets got quieter and the buildings looked older. He had no idea where he was, but the calmer air mad his itching skin quieten, at least momentarily. This place was lined with trees and homes, old brick buildings and wrought iron fences. It felt old … it felt like a memory, but not quite.

Finally Barnes' feet willed him to stop outside a line of shops, all vintage looking and celebrating the warm air by spilling outside on to the pavement. A Coffee shop combined with a Book store, a Barbers Shop, and a vintage clothing stall stood proudly on the tree lined corner. It felt nice, he thought as he took a seat on the bench outside of them, peaceful. And blessedly no one was taking the slight bit of interest in him, all of them caught up in their coffees and the smooth music coming from the Barbers.

He allowed himself to close his eyes, leaning his head back into the sun as he attempted to feel human again. Maybe he could trick himself into thinking this was a proper memory, and not a fragment like the ones he had. Maybe he could do that for Steve.

Barnes was called from this reprieve by the feeling of eyes watching him. The soldier opened his own and instantly caught site of his watcher in the Barber shop door way. A short old man, with a large moustache and a pleasantly pink face was frowning at him rather loudly. Before Barnes could feel truly self concious or weary, the man raised a callused hand and beaconed him forwards. Not seeing how he could be in any danger, or caring if he was, the soldier stood and moved towards the open store front the man was working from.

As he got closer the man's frown got louder and louder, his whole face crumpling in on itself in a way Barnes found hilarious. He had to bite his tongue to keep his amusement off of his face. He stopped in front of the barber (presumably, even operative barbers tended to be real barbers though) and waited.

After a moment the man sighed and straightened himself.

“It has been a long time since anyone has taken care of you properly, hasn't it son?”

It was Barnes' turn to frown. He recognised the American laden accent. Polish. 

“I'm sorry?”

“Your hair!” the man exclaimed, hands moving in wild gestures at his head, “It is horrid. I may cry.”

“I-”

“Come, I will cut it for you!”

“I don’t have enough money.” 

From memory he had about twenty dollars in his boot heel, not nearly enough for a professional haircut in a real barber shop.

“No, no money. Veterans are free.”

Barnes frowned deeper, but he didn't protest as the man took his arm and sat him down in a padded chair by a mirror. Whoa. His hair really did look dead, hanging down near his pecks in clumped uneven waves. This was the longest he had remembered ever having it. 

“How did you know I was a soldier.”

“I was one, I can see me in you. Also your arm.”

Barnes chuckled. He liked this man, he was blunt and unafraid of him. Like the Widow. Natasha.

“What would you like me to do?” The Barber asked as his hands rubbed some kind of liquid into his hair, “A soldier cut? Something else?”

Barnes bit his lip.

He had vague flashed of what he looked like before he was a soldier, how his hair had been styled and neat. He had looked charming. But Barnes wasn’t that man any more, nor was he the wild soldier. He was becoming someone new, a new incarnation of an old being. He needed to be new.

“Give me something modern … I want to fit in.”

Barnes watched as the old man's face curled up into a jolly grin akin to St. Nicks. 

“Oh I know just what you need. I give you what my grandson has, you will love it.”

…

An hour or so later Barnes looked at himself in the mirror and felt his skin finally stop itching and stretching, felt the cold leave his bones. He looked … good.

The Barber, who he found out was named Mikhail, had made him normal. The sides of his head had been shaved back leaving him with a mop of hair on top that Mikhail had tied back in a small messy bun. He still had a few comforting strands that fell over his eyes, but over all he looked completely different. He looked like the kind of person who belonged in this time.

Barnes was able to choke out a thank you through the lump in his throat, and Mikhail wrapped his arms round his shoulders as he grinned at him in the mirror.

“Look at you! You look tough as nails now, huh?” he laughed out as he helped Barnes from the chair, “A new man, no more lost man, a new man. Huh?”

Barnes nodded, a grin spread across his face.

“I don’t know how I can thank-”

“No no no. No thanking. Only living from now on.”

Barnes nodded.

“Only living from now on.”

The old man beamed up at him, and Barnes felt something in his chest shift and ease. He felt another piece of ice melt away and leave him warm.

He was ready to go back now.

…

A new Barnes walked into Stark tower to much the same scene as when he had first arrived. The whole team was standing on the first sectioned off floor, voices loud and carrying as they once again argued about him. And once again he rendered even Tony Stark silent.

He stood there, hand clenched in his shirt at the whole team stared at him. It was pretty creepy.

Barnes couldn't meet Steve's eyes, he was too afraid that his expression would bring back the too tight skin he had just gotten rid of.

So no one spoke or moved. Until Natasha stepped forwards, eyes intense as she took in his new hair cut and his face. After a long moment something shifted in her eyes and she reached forwards to clasp his wrist.

“You did good, Barnes. Come on, I will make you pancakes.”

Barnes heard Clint let out a whoop and a “Fuck yeah! Pancakes!” as he chased after them, Natasha pulling Barnes towards the Kitchen. A slow smile slid across Thor's face, and the Asgardian strode over to Barnes chuckling, “Finally fitting locks for a warrior, Barnes.”

Banner also moved after them with a small excited smile, Steve and Stark stayed rooted in the middle of the room looking mildly confused. But before he could be pulled around the corner by the widow Barnes saw the sweetest, goofiest smile spread across his Steve's face. The smile was the last thing he needed to stop his itching skin, to finally thaw his bones.

Maybe he wouldn't have to be put down after all.

(3)

After his new haircut adventure things began to pick up pace. Natasha acquired him a new wardrobe that was 'punk rock enough to match his new hair', an afternoon that required a steeper learning curve than Bucky possessed. Apparently the Widow understood the need to create a new self, new clothes or hair or scenery. She understood that he had been unmade and that he needed to become a new Bucky. Someone that they hadn't spoiled.

But other things changed as well. In an instant the team seemed to accept him into their ranks. The Widow became his personal guide (to the extent where she got bored of him), it became common for Clint or Thor to invite him to spar with him, and he had an open invitation for tea in Banners lab/home. And eventually (after what Natasha said was a week of Pepper ignoring him) Stark began his very intrusive quest to make him a 'cooler' arm. The whole prospect both exasperated and annoyed Bucky to no end. But it also made him smile sometimes, small and soft and nothing like the soldier had ever smiled.

Because of Natasha's acceptance of him paired with everything Steve had said, Bucky was finally being treated like an ally instead of a captive. 

But the things that changed with Steve, they weren’t as easy. Steve moved him into the Captains own level of the tower, giving Bucky his own space and integrating Bucky's few possessions in amongst his to make the place look like a home for both of them. He started going for morning runs with Steve, eating meals with him, catching up on pop culture with him. 

But there was a distance between them still. Steve didn't touch him at all, and he always seemed to be biting his tongue. Steve’s shoulders got tight and uneasy when Bucky said something that must have been wrong. The Captain would close himself off behind too tight smiles and grins that were so fake they made Bucky's skin crawl. He would lie to Bucky so he could retreat from the apartment or sometimes just go completely quiet for hours. Every time Bucky caused something like this he felt sick, felt like he was committing a crime against his one true friend. It made him feel like he wasn't human every time he saw Steve's face twist in sadness. It made his wrists itch.

As these situations continued it became more and more obvious to Bucky that he was hurting Steve just by being near him. He didn't know how, and he didn't dare ask Steve what he was doing wrong. He couldn't even look him in the eye. His chest felt permanently on fire and his previous relief from the horrible itches wasn't working. 

Three months and two weeks went by before he caved and asked Natasha about what he should do. He found it easy to talk to the Widow, she could follow his frequent and sporadic transitions between English and Russian without effort. That and she never failed to be blunt with him, unlike the other inhabitants of the tower who seemed to tip toe around anything they thought would trigger him. Except Clint. Clint seemed to think all of Bucky's reactions to things were highly amusing and got some kind of thrill our of triggering him. Bastard.

But Natasha hadn't known what to do, leaving him with the advise to both talk to Steve and give him space. She also ordered him to train with her that afternoon, claiming Krav Maga was perfect for working through rocky romances. He flipped her off for that.

Two days after that Bucky came to the decision that he really did need to give his friend space. He knew it couldn't be easy for him to live with Bucky as he was now while still missing who he was back then. It was hard enough for Bucky to pin down who he had become, it must be hell for Steve to see his best friends face on someone he barely knew.

Stark gave him his own floor level after an hour of accusations and very personal questions that went unanswered. He couldn't understand why Bucky wanted to live apart from Steve, shouting the word 'Inconceivable!' until Jarvis asked him to use his inside voice. But after about half an hour of an unwavering silence and steely glare, Tony threw up his hands and told him it would be ready in ten hours; “12 hours if you want double soundproofing. You know, so you can really crank up some moody grunge music while you throw your kitchen- hey, at least stay and glare when I am talking at-”

He moved out in the middle of the night, slipping out with his two duffel bags as silently as he could so as to not wake Steve. Bucky woke up six hours later with his back pressed against his locked front door. He had been waiting for Steve to come and force him back, to yell and call him names as he forcibly pulled him back up to his floor. He would give anything for Steve to yell at him, to call him a Jerk like a smaller him did in Bucky's jumbled up memories. But the Captain didn't come for him. Bucky spent the entire day with his back pressed against the door, watching the light move across the walls and feeling his heart beat crack with each passing hour.

The next day it was Natasha who came to his door. They had a mission, a big one and he was officially being deployed as an Avenger. 

And Bucky couldn't feel a thing except the itching of his wrists.

... 

Things with Steve didn't get much easier. Weeks passed of nothing but a professional relationship with Steve, no laughter no meeting up outside of missions or team meetings and meals. Nothing. 

Bucky had no idea what he had done but it was becoming obvious that Steve didn't want him as a best friend any more. With each steel shuttered glance and forced distance Bucky felt sicker and sicker, coming to the point where he was unable to eat without J.A.R.V.I.S reminding him. He was too afraid to talk to Steve, to afraid to hear what he had to say. Too afraid that they were the same things he thought every-time he looked in the mirror. So he did nothing. And it was the most painful thing he had ever done. 

So Bucky threw himself into every mission, giving everything he had into every punch and trigger. Everything he felt or thought left him with every violent action. And the scary fact of that would only hit him when the adrenalin dropped out and he was alone in his empty apartment.  
But the increased exposure to the team and their missions both bought him closer to the Avengers, and gained the media’s attention. Bucky didn't know if this was a good or bad thing yet.

He was beginning to feel like they were his team. He could anticipate their actions and read their faces, sometimes better then he could his own. He knew that he had belonged to a team before, long ago when he still smiled without having to forcibly remind himself and he had been a sniper, not a full blown weapon. When Steve-

On a hot afternoon a call came in that chilled Bucky to his bones. He was the only person still in the tower aside from Pepper Potts and a still skittish Dr Banner, with the rest of the team deciding that they needed to take advantage of the unseasonable warmth by sprawling out over the city. Bucky had no idea where half of them were, which made the call about the burning down School even more terrifying.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S' calm voice cut through the Soldiers concentration, stopping him mid chin-up, “I am getting reports that there is a fire at an elementary school five blocks over. It appears that the firemen have been divided all over the city because of the heatwave, and several children are trapped inside.”

Bucky swore. His heart had kicked to life in his chest. He had no orders to deal with this no one around to answer to, how was he meant to proceed. He wasn't enough of an avenger to deal with this.

“I don’t know what- should I call-”

“From my calculations sir there is a 70% chance of the children dying if help doesn’t arrive in the next ten minutes.”

He sucked in a deep breath.

“That settles it then,” Bucky announced, running to the elevator and punching in the code to make it go faster than regulation (thank you Stark).

“Put me on the line to Dr Banner and Ms Potts.”

“Right away, sir.”

Before he could blink the elevator music was replaced with the two other tower dwellers answering there coms, and Bucky found himself wishing not for the first time that he was a little more like Steve. Steve always knew how to rally the troops.

“This is Barnes. We have a situation five blocks over, a School is on fire and some kids are trapped inside. I will have J.A.R.V.I.S send out a message to the others, but it looks like these kids ain’t gonna make it if someone doesn’t get to them fast.”

“Let me guess- we are the fast?” Pepper Pott's voice said over the com, oozing her CEO false calm.

“Yes, Ma’am. You ready to suit up?”

“I will meet you at the site, Gentelmen. But I warn you I am still learning.”

Her com cut out as Bucky stepped out of the elevator to find Dr Banner on the ground flood, shopping bags in hand. Nodding at the doctor to follow him they began to rush from the building, barging through crowds of people.

“I'm gonna have to ask you Bruce.”

The doctor sighed.

“How many children are trapped again?”

“About two dozen, why?”

“The big guy doesn’t like kids getting hurt.”

“You think the big guy is going to cooperate?”

Banner smirked, shaking out of his shirt as they ran.

“If you can keep yours in line I can damn well try, cant I?”

Before Bucky could respond he was being picked up in a large green fist and being propelled forwards alarmingly fast buy the Hulks jumps. As the air whooshed past his ears Bucky heard the unmistakeable sonic boom of an Iron Man suit flying over head. 

A strange kind of elation filled his heart as the school came into view, and Bucky wondered if this was how Steve felt when one of his plans came together. But the idea left his mind as the hulk dropped him on to the roof of the burning School, as he shouted orders for the green man to clear the rubble and keep the school standing as he and Pepper got the children out. The thought left his mind and was replaced by the thought of twenty four scared eyes and small hearts, twenty four futures that they had to save or there was no point to calling themselves heroes.

...

Two hours and a steaming pile of charcoal later they stood out front of the school, grinning stupidly as they let our cough after smoke filled cough and the rest of the Avengers descended around them.

They didn't lose a single child.

Not a damn one.

…

The day following the fire the papers and magazines were plastered with pictures of the three of them. Pictures of Pepper and Bucky carrying arm fulls of children from the rubble, of Hulk holding up the school with nothing but his shoulders or so carefully catching that tiny girl that had fallen from the fifth story window, and of the three of them being swarmed by children when the fire was finally out. One paper had dubbed them “The Three Unlikely yet Amazingly Matched Musketeers”, which Stark was going to get blown up and framed the second he took a break from fawning over Ms Potts.

“Pepper, you have to call me Pepper, Bucky. We carried children out of a burning building together, you don’t get much more informal than that.”

Pepper was quickly becoming one of his favourite people.

But not all of the kids got out of the fire completely unscathed. Some got caught up in the smoke for too long, some fell and broke bones, some of them got burnt. Over all there were twelve small souls still in hospital a week after the fire. And that just didn't sit well with Bucky. 

It was Thor who came up with the idea for the team to visit the children in the hospital. Apparently it was not uncommon for him along with Lady Sif and The Warriors Three, to visit sick people back on Asgard. Tony of course jumped behind it and pretty soon everyone was being wrangled into putting on their 'Super Suits' for a good cause. Not that anyone needed wrangling really. They all hated the idea of sick kids.

But unfortunately one of Peppers many PA's blabbed to the press unintentionally. A quiet visit to some sick kids was twisted into a media event. Bucky had never seen Tony Stark so mad until they arrived at the hospital to a see of cameras, reporters, and the occasional fan. It took a patented Cap glare and a whole ten minutes of Banners calm voice to stop him from using an EMP to take out all the cameras. If it weren’t for the hospital tec, Bucky would have used it himself.

When they finally got past the media storm, and successfully stopped any Hulk related freak outs, the looks on the faces of the kids was all they needed to remember why the really did all that they did.

The Hospital had decided that all of the kids in the ward, not just the one's involved in the fire, deserved to meet their heroes. The Children's Ward and garden was done up in bright colours, with balloons hanging from every available height, cardboard cut outs of Cap's shield, Iron Man's mask and Thor's hammer littered the walls, and lolly bags were being handed out at the door. It was amazing to behold.

It was wonderfully overwhelming, but Bucky tried to hide that. These kids didn't need his baggage. 

An hour passed and Bucky was beginning to feel a headache coming on. He loved the kids, they were so ready and willing to smile and have fun that it made Bucky feel his biological 27 years old, instead of 90. But it was also a shock to the system when you had spent so long being broody and quiet, to suddenly be a kind of happy you don’t remember ever being. 

Thor, the big lug, took to the whole thing like a duck to water. Within minutes of entering the ward he had at least seven kids hanging off of him and was valiantly leading them into glorious battle. Banner, Pepper and Tasha had started up a quiet tea party in the garden, with a group of winged fairies and a couple of dinosaurs. Sam and Clint were trying to out draw each other at the crayon table, while Rhodey and Tony made silent bets as to who would win or break down first. Bucky was pretty sure that Jane (an amazing woman that had just flown in from California the day before) was taping the whole thing judging by her huge grin. 

And Steve- god, Steve was being the god damned saint that Sarah Rogers taught him to be. He was speaking in soft voices to the more fragile children that were bed ridden, holding their hands and making them grin as he told them quiet stories. It was heart meltingly sweet, and as the Super Soldier stared down at the small sick children an obvious look of recognition and understanding could be found on his face. Steve Rogers would always be small on the inside. 

Bucky sighed, and for a moment wondered if it would be cowardly to slip out. If it would make him a bad person to leave all the kids who looked at him like a was some kind of hero. Like he was human, and worth something, not the thing made of broken glass and Russian duct tape that he actually was. His fingers itched for a cigarette. 

Movement behind him, a shadow crossing his made the old soldier turn around to just catch a pair of huge brown eyes in the door way before they disappeared. Bucky frowned, hadn't all the kids come in yet?

With a hesitant couple of steps Bucky walked out into the hall to discover what was happening. Standing in the dim light was a tiny Girl in a purple dinosaur dress, and attached to a tall metal IV stand. She was staring at Bucky with those same brown eyes, this time from behind the cover of her fathers pants leg. Her father who was talking to- … her other father. Oh.

Learning curve Barnes, it not anything new. Not anything you haven't thought-

“Hi,” Bucky said suddenly, not wanting his mind to go where it had been heading. Not something he wanted to address when he was a step away from a children's hospital ward.

The two men seemed startled, turning to look at Bucky with their own sets of wide eyes. The Little girl clutched harder at her fathers pants leg at Bucky's greeting, and offered a small wave as well.

“Are you coming to the party?” he said to the room but directed at the little girl, who looked up at the two men who were still assessing Bucky. He didn't blame them for being weary of him, Bucky knew what he looked like.

“Sorry!” one of the men exclaimed, suddenly striding forwards to offer Bucky his hand, “Names George. This is Alec and Molly.”

“Nice to meet you. Names Bucky, Bucky Barnes.”

“We know. Its uh. Its good to have you back.”

Bucky nodded his thanks before looking back to the small girl, Molly.

“Are you comin inside? It's really … fun.”

Wow Buck, real nice and persuasive there. 

“We were just on the way in!” George exclaimed, “It took forever to get down here from Oncology-”

Bucky felt his stomach roll.

“-and we were all geared up to party when … well.”

The other man, Alec looked down at the child with painfully sad eyes, “Someone's just not feeling the party right now,” he spoke low and deep. 

Another sigh left the Soldiers mouth, before he slowly dropped into a crouch to be eye level with the little girl.

“Hi, Molly,” he tried to say it in his best Steve Rogers voice, “I'm Bucky. Why don’t you want to come to the party?”

The little girl evaluated him for a moment before stepping out from behind her father and leaning close to Bucky so she could whisper. He had forgotten how soft spoken children could be, how some were quiet and shy like his sister had been, how it was an effort for them to speak at all. His heart clenched as he watched Molly cup her hands around her mouth just like Becca used to do.

“I'm sick,” she whispered too loud for it to be a secret, “And small. And Daddy says I have to take this thing with me until I'm all better again,” she finished with a tug in her IV that made both parents flinch and grab the IV stand.

Bucky smiled at her.

“But don’t you wanna meet Thor, or Iron Man, or any of the other heroes?”

She but her lip and nodded slowly, her hands (that Bucky now could see where too thin and small) twisted in her purple dress. Jesus.

“I ...” Molly said looking at the floor, “What if … they don’t like me because I am sick?”

Her parents let out exclamations of abjection going to comfort the girl, but Bucky could see that they weren't doing what she needed. 

It seemed strange to someone like him, someone who had been healthy all his adolescence and never had to be attached to something like a horrible sickness. But to grow up surrounded by sickness, a sickness that is a part of you in a twisted sort of way, that had to mess with your identity as a person. It had messed with Steve's, made him feel like he had everything to prove and everyone to protect. It made Bucky's gut lurch to think that someone as young as Molly was already feeling like that.

The ninety something year olds mind was suddenly sent back seventy years. To a dusty school hall, and a small Steve Rogers who was looking up at him with the saddest eyes. Looking so small and saying that he was worried that Bucky's folks wouldn't like him. Because he was so small, because he was sick. Who would look around every time he coughed in case he had offended someone, or who would rather skip school than take his clothes off for Gym class. 

To standing outside dance halls with a Steve that was struggling not to cry as another dame laughed him away. To nights spent praying beside a bed that held a shaking boy that priests and doctors had already given up on. To Steve Fucking Rogers, who hadn't ever seen his own worth no matter how the years and serums changed him.

“Molly,” he spoke with a shaking voice, “I had a friend like you- a long time ago. We grew up together, and he was sick his whole life, small as well. And do you know what?”

Molly shook her head, and Bucky couldn't keep the grin from his face at such an innocent gesture.

“He was the most amazing person I have ever met. My best friend in the entire world. He looked so big to me, because I saw what he was on the inside. I could see all the goodness in him, shining out of him in buckets. But he couldn't see that he was amazing. So do you know what I did?”

Another adorable head shake.

“I decided to spend the rest of my life reminding him of how amazing he is, how beautiful he is despite his sickness. And he taught me, Molly, that being brave doesn’t mean standing up to the bad guys all the time, or being big and strong. Being brave, Molly, is knowing when you need someone to carry you.”

The little girl was staring up at him, huge eyes shining and she leant so close to him she had to hold his knee for balance.

“Do you wanna know who that Friend is Molly?”

She nodded rapidly.

“Captain America.”

The squeal she let out was adorable and painful, so loud it bounced off of the walls and amplified itself. Waving her arms she jumped into Bucky and latched on.

“So how bout it, Molly?” he chuckled out, “Are you ready to be brave and Party with me.”

Another squeal. With a look back at her now teary eyed Dads, who nodded vigorously, Bucky lifted the tiny girl into his arms. They stood up together, his metal hand taking control of her roller IV stand as she vibrated with excitement in his arms. Her Dads were grinning at him, and Alec even gave Bucky a kiss on the cheek that his daughter then mirrored. He was not successful at hiding his blush.

Feeling ageless, Bucky carried the small girl through the frays of children and out to join the tea party. Alec and George hung back, close to tears and snapping pictures as quickly as they could. 

Later, almost an entire year later, Bucky would find out that Jane had recorded his speech to little Molly. And when Bucky finally watched the video, he would see Steve's face as he carried the tiny girl through the ward to the tea party, when Bucky only had eyes for the now babbling little girl. He would see Steve Rogers bought to tears as he watched his best friend regain some of his humanity back from the darkness that stole it. 

…

The Avengers went back to the Tower, bone tired and heart warmed. They had done a good thing, the world were just a little bit brighter today. They could all barely keep the smiles off of their faces as they went their respective ways for the night.

Bucky didn't notice that he had followed Steve to his level until the Captain was unlocking the door and motioning for him to go through first.

“I should probably-”

“Please,” Steve said so quietly and so pleadingly it made Bucky's heart clench, “I really- … I need to talk to you Buck.”

Biting his lip and ignoring the way that his stomach dropped, The former Sargent followed the other man into the apartment. Steve strode into the Kitchen, which had changed since Bucky had moved out and now held shelves full of-

“Are those … sculptures?”

“Figurines, there called Kitsch- Natasha's idea of a joke.”

“...a joke. Cutesy animal vandalism is her sense of humour?”

“No,” Steve sighed, pulling two of those really bland American beers from the fridge. Beer had gotten weaker over the years, but the Australian stuff was good and strong. Tasha had imported a case a few weeks ago, with hilarious results that included Barton and a stolen tuba. 

From his fragmented memories the Australians in the war were fearless in their drinking and in battle, those people weren't afraid of anything. And apparently that hadn't changed. 

Bucky shook his head.

“Huh?”

“It, uh..” Steve rubbed the back of his neck and handed him a beer, “She just gave me the first one- see that Deer up the top. I kinda went overboard, Sam says I have been using them as a coping mechanism.”

“Coping mech- what for?”

Steve gulped, and he desperately tried not to trail the movement with his eyes. He failed.

“When you left … I wasn't so good after you moved out.”

Bucky felt all the air leave his lungs.

“What the fuck.”

“Buc-”

Blood was suddenly rushing too fast and loud through his ears.

“No!” he snapped, “No. What the fuck, Steve. You didn't want me here, I was hurting you and you were too nice to tell me. You- you-”

“-I was scared.”

the blood stopped.

“What?”

Steve finally met his eyes.

“I,” The bigger man sighed, “I never wanted you to leave Bucky- never in a hundred year. But then you were gone … and I was too much of a coward to ask you to stay.”

“I … I thought you didn't want me any more...”

It was the Captains turn to look outraged.

“What? No! I would never do that, Bucky, don’t you ever think that!” Bucky couldn't breath as Steve leant close and grabbed his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping him grounded, “I just didn’t know how to...talk to you any more. Everything I went to say started with 'do you remember' or 'remember how'. I-I just didn't know what I could say, and I know it is a shitty reason. I don't want to make you think that I only want you around because of who you used to be. I want you around because of who you are and what you mean to me, not because of who you don’t remember being.”

Steve took in a shuddering breath, and Bucky was instantly scared. Long winters in a crappy apartment, listening to shuddered breathes and rattling lungs for hours on end. That memory, the instinct to protect, would never leave no matter how dark it got.

“I.... I'm just so scared of losing you again I didn't let myself get close. I didn't want to feel that hurt again when you were gone, but I did anyway. I- I could barely breathe without you, Buck.” he let out a humourless chuckle, “I'm probably really messed up.”

A relief swept over Bucky that could not be named, it was so strong. His bones felt lighter. All those feelings he kept in that empty apartment were gone in a breath, and he grinned crookedly up at his best friend.

“You are such a fucking idiot, Rogers.”

Steve let out an involuntary bark of a laugh that sounded like 'Jerk' as he tried to pull his unshed tears back. He was grinning too, and with steady, confident hands, Bucky pulled the other man into a tight hug.

“How about we be fucking idiot’s together though, hey?”

Steve laughed against his neck.

After a long, long moment of hugging and pretending the other wasn't crying a little bit; the two men pulled away from each other. They couldn't keep the grins from their faces though.

“But Steve-”

“Yeah. Pal?”

“Those creepy ass figurines are gonna have to find a new home.”

“Yeah I was thinking the same thing. How about your room, James?”

“You fucker, I'm gonna-”

“You'll have to catch me first, old man!”

(4)

Barton likes to call him Jimmy. Jimmy, Jim-Jim, Jimmers. All of them said with a sly grin on his face and a planned escape route. Bucky is pretty sure that Barton is one of the best friends he has.

But that doesn’t explain why he is sitting on his and Steve's kitchen counter, wearing nothing but boxers and eating fruit-loops. Bucky's fruit-loops

“... I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”

Barton showed off a milk filled grin and continued to munch away. It was close to five o'clock in the morning, the light still holding a blue tinge as it flowed in through the window. It was going to be cold today, Bucky could feel it in his joints. He really hated the cold.

“Why are you making my kitchen unsanitary, Barton?”

“Steve let me in.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“...Okay. Cap passed me on his way out. That guy is really perky in the mornin.”

The older man (chronologically) sighed and started to gather the things needed to make waffles. He earned something indulgent, just from the last two minutes of being near a barely clad grinning Barton.

They didn't speak to each other again until Bucky was part way through his second waffle and Clint was eating a new bowl full of Cheerios. 

“Tasha wants to start setting you up with people.”

The waffle he was eating ended up slapping Barton in the face and sending his tumbling on to the floor, while Bucky had a coughing fit.

“Ow! What the frack, Jimmy!”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me,” he grumbled as he got up, “You're not that old, Gramps.”

“But...” Bucky choked out, a frown taking over his face, “Why in the hell dose she want me to … date?”

“I dunno,” Clint said as he stole Bucky's last waffle, “I guess she wants to push you in the right direction, help you fit in in our fancy future.”

“I don’t-”

“I also think she is worried about you,” Bucky winced at the sight of so much syrup running down the other man's chin, “I also may have heard her on the phone. She is worried about you, dude.”

“Don't call me dude. I thought the Widow didn't worry about anything.”

“The Widow, not so much. But Tasha...”

Bucky sighed. In truth he wasn't surprised. Besides contact with their team and the people that came along with it, Bucky had pretty much been avoiding human interaction. Well, not all human interaction. There was one interaction he was beginning to get familiar with again.

“She doesn’t need to worry. I'm fine. Its not like I am being maidenly or anything.”

“Maidenly? Did people even say that ninety years ago?”

“Seventy- and what I mean is I'm not … alone. I don’t need to go on dates or what ever Tasha wants from me.”

“She wants to help you. Pushing is how she helps.”

Bucky sighed.

“Well I don’t need to be pushed.”

Barton stopped his munching and looked Bucky in the eyes, his face suddenly serious. The former soldier shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. It felt like Barton was seeing inside his head, his eyes too serious and too still, seeing the things he had been keeping purposefully hidden from him and everyone else. 

Eventually the Archer leant forwards in his seat across from Barnes, speaking low like they were going to be overheard. Or like he didn't want to startle him.

“We both know that that's crap, James. Tasha, Sam, Steve - they are all worried about you, like serious worried. They can see the way you keep spacing out and they think you are struggling with being 'Bucky' again. They don’t know the truth-”

“You promised not to say anything, Clint! I swear-”

“- And I wont say anything. But somethings gotta give, Barnes. You cant keep quiet forever- You cant keep everything bottled up forever, especially not this.”

Bucky snorted, casting his eyes down to his metal arm.

“Love is for children.”

Clint chuckled.

“Russians, all the same.”

“I'm from Brooklyn.”

“Whatever, Comrade. Now hows about you make your old pal Clint some waffles?”

…

The next day while practising 'hand to hand' with Natasha she broached the subject he had been dreading, sitting on his twisted around hands so he couldn't get away. 

Two hours later Bucky set up weekly therapy with an S.H.I.E.L.D approved Doctor. He needed to get better, either at lying or otherwise. His friends were getting too close to the truth.

…

Bucky was pretty sure that he had always been in love with Steve Rogers. His memories were ripped, and tacked together shoddily, but he could remember enough. He could remember long winters huddled at the smaller man's side, running down the street hand in hand when they were still plump from youth, spending nights drinking crappy whisky in their shirt-sleeves and suspenders. He could remember going out dancing and staring at Steve instead of the girl in his arm, wanting to make him smile or laugh and not paying attention when she did. He remembers going out dancing, having a good time, but missing Steve the whole time. He remembers Steve's smile, the same smile on such different faces. Small, big, war ravaged, blood smeared- but always the same Steve Rogers grin.

He remembers Steve being his whole world. Remembers panicking every time Steve talked about Bucky getting hitched to some girl, because he couldn't see a way forward without losing Steve in some way. He remembered how easy it was to be happy, even when they had no reason or right to be, how easy it was to be himself around the small, sickly boy- who was more of a man at fourteen than Bucky was at twenty five.

The war didn't change anything, Steve's new less breakable body didn't change anything. He was head over heals, now everyone could see what Steve really was; a hero. Everyone wanted to be him or be with him, and it made Bucky proud and jealous in equal measure

Steve was everything to him and gave Bucky all he could, and he had selfishly wanted more. He wanted more, and just those thoughts were dangerous, and selfish and something Bucky had no right to.

He remembers trying to convince himself they could stay like they were forever, together and happy. That would be enough for him, just to have Steve in some way.

Bucky also remembers not believing a word of it.

 

So twice a week Bucky spills all of this to a therapist who signed a contract so iron clad he's pretty sure she would be covertly taken out if she were to break it. He spills his guts and his lungs feel clearer, his chest less constricted. Telling such a huge secret for so long was so freeing. It wasn't easy, it went against everything he had been taught- but … Bucky knew that he needed to talk or he would repress himself.

It was part of the Soldiers training. Repress, because the things you are feeling or thinking, no one cared to hear them if they weren't conclusive to a mission. After he had moved back into Steve's apartment Bucky had talked as much as he could, knowing that he had to strive to be better, at least for Steve's sake. It had worked, the dark was still there behind his eyelids and always would be, but it went more and more out of focus with each word. It wasn't much, but it was enough for his smiles to come easier. 

Talking to the Therapist had the same effect. His hands didn't shake when he threw an arm around Steve's shoulders. He didn't focus on what he couldn't have as much, instead enjoying all that he could. Now if she would just stop telling Bucky to confess his feelings to 'the object of your affections' everything would be dandy.

…

It took no time at all for Barton to squeal to Natasha about where Bucky disappeared too. Apparently she had assumed he had been brooding in his room. Bucky was offended by the accusation. He mostly brooded in the roof top garden, these days.

“Going out of house, Yasha?”

Bucky snorted. Was it ironic she cornered him in the Garden?

“I am going to eviscerate Barton.”

“No you wont.”

“Why?”

“Because I would eviscerate you after you had finished.”

He shrugged and turned back to the garden. His therapist had recommended taking up a hobby outside of shooting things and jumping off of bigger things. Gardening was his first thought. Sarah Rogers had been the best gardener in Brooklyn, people paying her to make their own gardens or window boxes look half as good. It had put food on the table in the Summer and Spring. Every time he dug his fingers in to the earth to make way for a new flower or bulb, Bucky thought of the woman who had been like a second mother to him, and how she used to shake her head and call him by his full name when ever he and Steve came home covered in bruises and scraped knees.

Tulips were popular back then, but Lavender had always been Mrs Rogers favourite. And Steve's too. Old English Lavender- none of that frilly French stuff. He had seven of them beside him ready for planting, and Bucky distantly wondered what Steve's face would look like when he saw the flowers and realised that Bucky remembered his Mom so vividly.

He sighed and tasted lavender in his throat.

“What do you want from me Tasha.”

The Widow studied him for a long moment.

“The Red Room messed me up pretty bad.”

Bucky's fists clenched and he rose to look at her.

“You don’t have to tel-”

“I'm sorry for trying to make you use my way of getting better,” she all but whispered, wrapping her hoodie covered arms around herself, one of Clint's oversized purple ones, “I just didn't want you to get stuck.”

Bucky nodded, and the smaller woman relaxed.

He liked that they could communicate without saying much. It was different to the once synchronised thought process he had with Steve, it was more instinctual. Maybe it was a former soviet weapon/assassin thing, maybe it was because they both had an uncanny ability to see through bullshit. Either way, Bucky was pretty sure he could easily fall in love with Natasha Romanoff. If he was a different man.

He was also pretty sure he was tired of being so existential all the time. 

“Stark wants us down stairs for a meeting.”

“When?”

“In half an hour.”

Bucky glanced down at the flowers at his feet and let a still unfamiliar smirk adorn his face.

“Wanna help me?”

The goofy grin he received was so bright Bucky couldn't help but mirror it.

…

The Avengers as a whole got a tone of fan mail. Bags and bags full of letters from all kinds of people. The kids letters were the best ones, usually covered in glitter or stickers and almost always containing a drawing. Brightly coloured, crayon or marker renderings of their favourite hero saving the day.

Tony had entire books full of carefully preserved drawings of Iron man he had been sent (“Not sentimental at all, hey Stark?” “I'd tell you to shut up but you might peck my brains out or something, Sam the Eagle. What's it like always having a hand up your a-” “Tony!” “Sorry, dear”)

Pepper had an entire system to keeping the artworks preserved, purchasing roll away gallery shelves and rest boxes and everything needed to help them last. She even curated a showing of the kids works in a small but famous gallery in the city, with all the proceeds going to a foundation that helped disadvantaged kids get into art programs and good homes. It was an amazing sight to behold, an entire gallery covered with hundreds of children’s drawings professionally hung as if they were Monet's or Rembrant's. 

It was unbelievable to Bucky that he got fan mail as well. So many letters (though not as many as Cap or Thor seemed to get) each one praising him for all the good he has done, as though his hands aren't still dripping red. A shared look with Banner told him he wasn't alone in this feeling. It was amazing and terrifying to think that people- children thought he was a hero.

But the true impact of this didn't hit him until he got Dimitri Jacobs letter.

Tony had set up a day once a month where they would sort through the letters they had got, throwing out the creepy ones and setting aside time to respond to the others. Bucky had gotten as small pile (in comparison), containing about fifty or so letters. He had read about four or five, thrown out a group of scary fantasits ones, and spent way too long in a paper plane war with Barton, when he spotter the small envelope. It was a bright blue colour, with a carefully drawn Captain America shield drawn on the front, except sporting a red star in the middle and blue rings instead of red. The star matched the one he used to have on his shoulder, before Stark had made him a new less 'evil' arm. Bucky frowned, wondering if the kid had meant this for Steve. But scrawled on the front in careful pen was Bucky's full name and army rank.

Still frowning he opened the letter.

Dear Sergeant Barnes,  
Hi! My name is Dimitri Jacobs and I am almost 7 years old. My favourite colour is Blue, but I also like Orange and Pink. What is your favourite colour?  
I want to tell you that you are my favourite Avenger because you are just like me. We used to live somewhere else, my daddy says somewhere near Russia. We had to leave when I got hurt, but I like America a lot. When I grow up I want to be a fireman or a dancer, but daddy says I don’t have to chose yet. I hope you like my drawing, I used all the colours because I don’t know your favourite one yet. Thank you for being a hero  
love you lots  
Dimitri.

Enclosed in the letter was a crayon drawing of Bucky and a small boy holding hands and surrounded by multicoloured flowers. Both of the figures had silver arms, Bucky's on his left and the boys on the right. As he lifted the picture closer to his face a smaller piece of paper fell out from behind it. The small square polaroid showed a smiling boy, his face lit up with joy as he raised his hands in the air- on made of skin and bone, the other attached to a plastic model that was covered in superhero stickers and marker drawings. 

you are my favourite Avenger because you are just like me.

This tiny boy, still chubby and happy with youth, looked at Bucky and saw a hero. Looked at him and didn't see his blood trail, only saw a hero with the same disability as him. Saw him as a hero, saw that just because they both were missing something most other people had didn't mean that they couldn't be strong, or heroic. He saw Bucky being a hero, and felt better about himself.

He didn't even feel the tears on his face until Sam was shaking his shoulder.

“Bucky!” Steve called in alarm across the room, rounding piles of letters to crouch down in front of him, “Buck, what's wrong?”

Without saying a word Bucky handed the letter and photo over to Steve. The bigger man scanned the letter, a slow grin overtaking his face, his eyes flicking to Bucky's every few seconds. He looked like it was Christmas morning.

“Aw, I didn't know you were such a sap, Buck.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers.”

Bucky snatched the letter back frowning, though he could feel it not reaching his eyes. Steve threw his head back and laughed.

“It's sweet,” he said, “You've made a little boy feel better about himself.”

“Yeah man,” Sam agreed, “Representation matters.”

“I just- I didn't think … didn't know people thought this way about me and ...that-” he nodded down at his arm, “-like that.”

It was overwhelming.

“Dont you,” Bucky gestured at the two men at the others behind them, who were pretending not to listen, “-feel like its all ...too much?”

Steve nodded with a sigh.

“Every damn day.”

Sam snorted, “Not me. I've always deserved the praise. Along with all the action figures, the colouring books-”

“We get it bird brain!”

Barton rose from behind Natasha's stack of letters, paper plane raised in warning.

“Who you calling bird brain, tin man?”

Tony threw up his hands in surrender (as Thor demanded for Barton shown him how to make the small paper projectiles), coming to stand next to where Bucky was sitting. 

“You alright, Barnes?”

Taking the envelope from Dimitri in his hands Bucky stood up, holding it carefully out to the billionaire.

“You keep asking to customise this thing,” he wrapped his knuckles against his metal forearm, “Think this'll do?”

Stark stuck his lip out and nodded approvingly before a sly grin came across his face. 

“Hey J.A.R.V.I.S, how do you feel about making a little kids head explode.”

“I frown upon it, Sir.”

Two hours later Bucky had a new paint job on his arm, and was sitting down to write Dimirti back as Thor danced around him taking Polaroid after Polaroid of him and his arm. 

...

After the letter and the new paint job Bucky seemed to feel warmer, deep down in his bones. This feeling that he had done good. And Tasha, who was still very much a terrifying spy, picked up on this good feeling and used it as and excuse to drag him and anyone else around out to a bar.

Natasha still felt the need to point out every attractive woman they came across. Now that she had caught on to the fact that Bucky occasionally liked to hook up with people, she made it her mission that Bucky was quote; “Only getting the hottest pieces of ass.”

It took exactly one and a half bar trips for Bucky to break and exclaim with too much force, “Its not just ladies you know!”

Inelegant and gruff. The frown he got from Steve made him want to throw up. Objectively he knew that Steve has no problem with anyone’s sexuality, had become a vocal supporter for equal rights, and wasn't disgusted by his best friends like of both men and women. But the fact that Bucky had hidden it from him … well, it's just one more thing that Bucky's hurt Steve with.

As soon as they were alone, stepping hesitantly into there own apartment, that Steve finally says anything. His voice sounds so small and his fingers are twisted together when he finally speaks.

“Why didn't you tell me, Buck?”

“Steve,” he sighed, “Can we do this in the morning?”

“You have to know that I don’t mind,” Steve said standing close to him and keeping their eyes level, “I never would have thought any different of you- not now or back then.”

Bucky sighed and smiled. Big and goofy, like he knew he used too.

“I know that, Stevie.”

Steve seemed to turn bashful, face flushing slightly as he looked away from Bucky's face. 

“Did- … Did you feel like that back then too?”

Bucky nodded, “I think so. I remember liking girls a lot, but I can also remember thinking the guys were easy on the eyes too.” 

He didn't say that no man made his breathe hitch of stomach flip more than Steve did. Back in the 1940's and now. 

Steve grinned.

“You're not the only one, you know.”

“Yeah I know, I've seen the news stories-”

“I mean, its not just you,” Steve bit his lip and held Bucky's gaze, “It's ah … I like stars and stripes.”

Bucky frowned.

Steve chuckled, “And all the variations of- I mean like striped stars and stuff- because there are more than two gender's obviously- its complicated-”

Once Bucky got his head around the strained metaphor, and his face went slack with shock, he couldn't help but bring Steve into a tight hug. The bigger man curled around him, moulding them to each other. He wanted to tell him that everything was alright, that there was nothing wrong with being the way they were, to chase all of those doubts and insecurities that he knew the other man carried away. He wanted to hold him forever, keep him safe and warm where no one could hurt him. To be selfish.

But instead he said; 

“Am I the only one who knows?”

Steve let out a watery laugh. Oh god he was crying, Bucky didn't know if he could ever let him go now.

“I think the others know that I'm not exactly straight,” he said against Bucky's neck, “And most of the public has figured out as well, if that Tumblr thing Tony showed me is anything to go by. I've never said anything, but when you speak at enough Pride events people get ideas. I … I haven't felt the need to 'come out'... don’t think they should assume I'm straight in the first place.”

“Then why come out to me?”

Another wet laugh and the arms around his waist got tighter, “Because I never want you to feel alone, Buck. I'm with you all the way, no matter what. Nothing can change that, not your sexuality or mine, not our past not anything. I'm not leaving for anything.”

Bucky felt his breath come shorter, his face scrunching up as he failed to hold back both the tears and the laughter that the let go into the bigger man's shoulder. He felt lighter, felt warmer. Steve wasn't gonna leave him, no matter what, no matter how selfish he was, no matter how blood stained his hands were or how much of his insides were made of broken glass and bullet casings. It was freeing, knowing he never had to be alone again. 

“So,” the Captain eventually shuddered out after a few long minutes of silence and tighter hugging, “No more secrets, hey? No more half conversations and miss understandings. Just the truth.”

The bottom dropped out of Bucky's stomach. The lightness was dimmed and his bones felt old again. He couldn't tell Steve, even if it was a possibility now, he still couldn't tell him. He couldn't let Steve know how much he loved him, that Steve was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing he thought of before he slept. It was too much, too strong, Captain America didn't need that weight on his shoulders. He didn't want Steve to be careful around him again, hesitant like he had been after Bucky had come back. Steve not loving him back might kill Bucky, but it would hurt Steve too. That was more then enough reason to lie to Steve's face.

“No more secrets, I swear-”

Don’t tell him how much you love him. 

“- I swear on my life.”

 

(5)

He managed to keep his promise to himself for longer than expected. Though not by his own doing. All out war broke out, Hydra and some freak from Space. Suddenly they were all veterans of another battle, scraping by just barely without losing anyone. And now they had more members, more Avengers tower apartments filled. A couple of twins, another Captain, a thief with a perky woman in tow, a couple more spiders, and a working relationship with a group of Space Guardians or something, had all been gained in the past few months. And it looked like things were only going to get more crowded.

Bucky liked it. He always wanted a big family. And this strange group of ptsd sufferers and super powered ego maniacs was beginning to feel like just that.

But he got sloppy. Got used to down time with Steve in Washington, in a sun lit apartment, eating and sleeping and healing. It was lazy and warm, it was everything they used to pray for all those years ago in Brooklyn. They barely separated from each other, and though their friends popped in and out at their leisure, they mostly had each other to themselves. Except when when one of them had to leave to got get another batch of Chinese food. Sometimes super soldier serum was a god send, when it came to metabolism, but boy could they put food away like it was going out of styles. Especially greasy hamburgers and msg filled fried rice.

But now Bucky wasn't in that sun lit apartment, he wasn't warm and safe. He was being a coward. Running away so he didn't have to face how much he had screwed things up.

Bucky scrubbed his hands down his face as he let out a shuddered breath.

He had fucked up. God had he fucked up.

…

It was raining outside and they had both decided that going out or even putting on proper pants was too much of a hassle. It was much much easier to stay in the lounge room, spread out on the couch and watching episode after episode of Star Trek; The Next Generation, while eating basically everything in the apartment.

Bucky groaned as he came back from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn smothered in peanut butter and maple syrup.

“That looks disgusting,” Steve grumbled, mostly because he had to move his legs to let Bucky back into the strange blanket/cushion nest that they had constructed. One thing Bucky had noticed about Steve (since he had become Bucky again) was that when it came to warmth he was greedy and unashamed. Too many years spent nearly killed by the cold.

“This looks like breakfast.”

“...It's almost two.”

“Don't judge me, Rogers.”

Steve chuckled, and situated himself closer to Bucky to leech off of his warmth. Bucky didn't mind. And for once he didn't think about how easy it would be is he did mind, even just a little bit.

They spent hours just laying beside each other before anyone spoke again, watching as Captain Picard and his crew faced adversity and managed to make it through time and time again. Steve seemed to particularly like Data, pointing out the similarities between him and J.A.R.V.I.S. At some point the two of them drifted off, happy to doze on each other as the day passed them by.

Bucky woke up slowly, eyes half opened as he scanned the now dimly lit room. His mind still felt slow, and though his body was warm it was also numb from lying under Steve for a couple hours or so. Bucky grinned. Somehow in there sleep they had rearranged so that Steve was laying with his head on Bucky's chest, listening to his heart beat and drooling slightly on his shirt.

“Old man,” Bucky chuckled with affection.

Steve stirred at the noise, rubbing his face into Bucky's chest and letting out a sleepy mumble. He watched as Steve's bright blue eyes slowly focused, lazily dragging around the room until they settled on Bucky's face, Steve shaking off the last of the sleep to send a goofy grin up at him.

Without thinking, as though it was the most normal thing in the world, Bucky moved his head down to seal his lips over Steve's. The kiss was sweet, slow and sleepy and probably really immature. But he didn't mind, Bucky knew that Steve hadn't kissed man people.

Steve.

He was kissing Steve.

As though burnt Bucky drew back from his friend, looking down at him with wide eyes to see Steve staring back, his face full of shock and- … oh god he looked scared.

“What the hell, Buck?”

In an instant Bucky was across the room, back pressed against the wall and his arms raised to show he wasn't a threat. His breathing was coming in panicked little bursts and he felt like his whole body was shaking. He was afraid. He had fucked up and now Steve-

-oh god Steve was looking at him like he had just kicked a puppy.

He'd fucked up, fucked up so bad, how was he going to- “I'm sorry. So sorry- please don’t...dont- I didn't mean to do it-”

“Bucky, please-”

“-I didn't mean to- but you looked so... I'm sorry. You didn't want me too- I mean why would you ever want to... I'm not enough- even if you wanted to I'm not good enough … Not that you want to- you didn't want to and I kissed you any way. Oh god forgive me- don’t- don’t hate me please-”

Bucky couldn't stop his mouth, his words were tumbling out before they were fully formed. He wasn't coherent, he was taking too much air and letting out to little. 

He had crossed a line, broken a promise and broken another and now Steve was looking at him with huge sad eyes, raising his hands in front of him like he thought Bucky was some kind of wounded animal- like he thought Bucky was going to charge at him. His heart hurt so bad he clutched at his chest and wondered how it could possibly still be beating. How could it not have shattered yet.

“Bucky, clam down!” Steve ordered, but he couldn't he couldn't he didn't deserve to- “I need you to calm down or you are going to hurt yourself.”

Bucky shook his head, skidding along the wall towards the door. His hands were shaking now, too fast for him to even see through his water filled eyes.

“I hurt you-I can't-”

“Bucky, no! I'm not hurt, please stop-”

“I hurt you. I always hurt you- always, always hurt you-”

“James, stop!”

The shout came too late. Bucky's vision went dark as he was running out the apartment door.

...

He woke up from the black out approximately three hours later. He had gone on autopilot, the last dregs of the soldier taking over to get him out and safe. He came to on the roof of a fifty story sky scraper. 

In New York. 

He was also wearing Jeans. He hadn't been wearing anything but boxers and a ratty shirt when he ran out.

Bucky had a feeling that he would find a burner phone in his pocket and enough money to get out of the country. He was pretty sure he had run to one of the Soldiers outposts, a cache of supplies to keep him hidden and mobile. His stomach twisted at how tempting it would be to just keep going.

Cause that's what he is good at, insn't it? Running away. Breaking Steve's heart. 

He scrubbed a hand down his face and turned to leave the roof. No doubt Steve would have followed him, was probably close to finding him or enlisting someone else’s help to find him. Probably Stark or Natasha. Sam was more likely, but the other two would be able to find him quicker, Stark with his gadgets and Tasha with her scary widow senses. 

Or he had given up. Gotten sick of chasing after him. Bucky wouldn't blame him, he didn't deserve Steve's loyalty. Not after what he had done.

After Bucky finally became 'himself' again he realised two things; one, consent meant everything after all he had been through. He wouldn't so much as kiss someone or touch them without knowing it was okay first. And as touch starved as he was he always applied this to Steve … until now.

And, two; he needed to protect Steve at all costs.

He had failed both of those requirements tonight, and broken his promise to himself to keep his feelings out of his relationship with Steve. To protect both the other man, and his broken glass heart.

Realistically Bucky knew that he needed to go back and talk to Steve, to figure out where they stood now. If they could still stay friends after Steve rejected him, how long he had to move out, if Steve wanted him off of the team. Steve wouldn't ask for any of to do any of those things, but Bucky would in a heart beat if it meant keeping the other man safe and happy.

His heart was beating too fast as he stepped into the elevator. Bucky hated elevators, preferring to take the stairs because of he speed and the not so much focus time on the enclosed space. Also the music was usually tinny, and poppy and gross. 

Bucky made it all the way down to the thirtieth floor before another person rushed onto the elevator and frantically pushed the lobby button even though it was already lit up. A woman, young and pretty, that was taking deep breaths with clenched teeth and balled hands. She was also very very pregnant.

Oh no.

“Um,” Bucky said softly, not wanting to scare the woman, “Are you alright, ma’am?” 

The woman ran a hand through her long red hair and let out a high pitched peel of laughter.

“Oh, I'm fine,” she sing songed unconvincingly, “I mean my water broke a couple of hours ago in my sleep and now my contractions are getting closer together and my douche-canoe of an ex is out of town so he cant take me to the Hospital and I am paranoid someone is gonna take the cab I called because this elevator is so god damned slow!”

“Uh. I will help you get a new one if its not there?” It came out as a question. Bucky was severely out of his depth.

“Thank you that is very swe- oh shit!”

The woman clutched her stomach as another contraction rolled through her. Her other hand shot out and twisted in Bucky's shirt, gripping tight to lessen the pain.

“Oh god its getting closer!”

“Just a couple more floors,” Bucky tried to sooth her, “Just ten more floors and you will be-”

The elevator came to a sudden stop causing Bucky to catch the unstable woman.

“-in the clear.”

The lights power off before a new more harsh set came on. Emergency lighting. Oh no.

“What is happening!” the Woman screamed, clutching at Bucky, “Oh god, oh no please god-”

“It's alright, I'm sure we will be up and going again in a few minutes.”

“A few minutes! I don’t have a few fucking minutes. A human being is about to come out of my fucking vagina and I need to get to a place that has morphine!”

Bucky gulped, thoroughly scared by the tiny woman.

“I-I have a phone,” he stuttered out, “I will call some people to help us.”

The woman nodded, and let out a string of screamed swears as she suffered another contraction- “Fucker fucking Christ, dammit that fucking smarts!”

His hands were shaking so bad he almost dropped the phone as he dialled the emergency number, assuming silently that Stark probably couldn't help him here. When that call failed to be answered he called 911.

“Hello, 911, what is your emergency?”

“Hi, um- I'm trapped in an elevator in the Hilton Building. I think its been shut off or something.”

“...I am sorry but it looks like you're gonna have to hang in there, Sir. I expect another twenty minutes to an hour.”

Bucky frowned. How could she know that? That was a very exact time frame very quickly given. And why hadn't they offered to send over a uniform or the fire department or something?

Unless … 

“Is there some kind of operation going on in the building? A raid or something?”

“... I am sorry sir but I can not di-”

“-Mother fucker and all her fucking dwarves, I need drugs!”

“...Um, Sir? Is there someone else trapped with you.”

“Yeah, I am in here with-”

“Melissa-fuck!”

“-Melissa. She is in labour, she needs to get to the hospital as soon as possible.”

The woman on the phone sighed and Bucky heard the sound of a key board being thoroughly worked over.

“I'm sorry but I just cant-”

Okay, Bucky was getting pissed now.

“Let me recap this for you, huh?” he said sternly down the line, hand stroking through the now crying Melissa's hair, “I am at the Hilton building, approximately between the ninth and tenth floor on the front side. The elevator has stopped, is on back up power that only seems to power the lights. I am with a woman in distress who is about to give birth, probably in the next ten to twenty minutes- probably in an unsterilised elevator floor without medical tools or pain killers. And if she is going to be forced through that for some god damned police raid, I am going to hold you accountable!”

“Sir, I cant-”

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and I have already had a lousy day so why don’t you just cut the crap and tell me the truth.”

The line went so quiet that Bucky's heart sunk, thinking that he had gone too far and she had hung up.

“Did-” the sudden sound made his jump, “Did you say, James Buchanan Barnes?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She breathed in sharply, and the background of the call was suddenly filled short too far away words and the sounds of an abused keyboard.

“Mr- Sergeant Barnes!” the voice came back out of breath, “We have a swat team carrying out a raid on a drug ring in the building, but more men are on the way to support them so some of the already attending officers are on their way to you now- eta of about ten minutes.”

Melissa let out a wail and Bucky was forced to guide her down to lay on the floor.

“We don’t have ten minutes!”

“Well um, Sgt. Barnes- it looks like you are gonna have to deliver this baby.”

Bucky's blood went cold, and he fixed his eyes to the pained woman in front of him. She was looking up at him, eyes filled with so much fear- but also hope. Hope for him, that he could protect her and her child. Bucky gulped before leaning close to her.

“I promise you, Melissa,” he spoke as softly and as kindly as he could manage, “You and your baby are gonna make it out of here. I swear on...” he hesitated for a moment, “I swear on my soul I will get you through this.”

A wrung out smile took over her face as she clutched at his arms, needing grounding. Support. When she spoke her voice sounded so much like little Sarah Rogers' he felt a piece of his heart fit back together.

“I believe you.”

Bucky smiled at her, putting the phone on speaker and placing it next to her side. Reaching across the floor he effortlessly pulled the panel below the buttons away, revealing a limited first aid kit and some emergency blankets.

“You ever done this before, uh...?”

“Ronnie.” the phone spoke back, “And no I have not.”

Bucky let out a chuckle as he opened the case and situated himself between the again swearing woman’s knees.

“Well you're in luck, Ronnie,” he said as he snapped one a pair of gloves and readied to see if Melissa was dilated enough, praying the baby was facing the right way, “I just so happen to be the son of a nineteen thirties midwife, who delivered babies during the 'Great Depression' and the 'Great War'.”

He smiled up at Melissa, using his big fake grin in hopes to calm her down.

“You are gonna be just fine Melissa, but I'm afraid its gonna hurt like hell.”

Melissa nodded, rattling off an old prayer that Bucky vaguely recognised, as she readied to bite down on a balled up blanket. It was now or never, this baby wasn't going to wait any longer-

“Five minutes!” Ronnie called, “The officers and the EMT's are almost there!”

-Bucky situated his hands between Melissa's legs, mind running over his still scrappy memories of how his mother used to do it. She never lost a baby, and Bucky would be damned if he was the one to stop the Barnes winning streak.

“Okay, Melissa keep breathing. When I say push you've gotta push, okay?”

“Jesus fuck- YES!”

“Okay, one. Two. Three. Push-”

Her screams echoed off of the metal elevator walls, and was soon joined by a much younger deafening noise. When the EMT's managed to pry open the doors minutes later they came upon the sight of a smiling woman, carefully clutching a baby boy that was wrapped up in Bucky's shirt, while Bucky himself finished cleaning up all that comes after a baby. Mostly with his pants.

…

“Eli James Bradley.”

Melissa repeated the name over and over again, gazing lovingly down at the shirt swaddled infant as the EMTs placed them both in the back of an ambulance.

They had been taken/wheeled out of the hotel and into a media shit storm. Apparently the people that were being taken down were big news, the kind of gangsters that the media was obsessed with. The camera flashes were so bright Bucky cupped his hands around the babies eyes to protect them. And of course, the second someone yelled “Look, its Bucky Barnes!” everything became ten times brighter and ten time louder. Apparently Captain Americas best friend stumbling out of a building where a raid was happening, shirtless and covered in blood, was more interesting then arrested mob heads. Who'd a thunk it.

“You really don’t have to name him after me, ma'am.”

“No backing out now, army guy,” she said in a cooing mothers voice, “You bought him into this world, you two are tied forever now.”

Bucky grinned, hands curling in the bright green scrubs they had given him, “I'll do my best to make that name something worth having.”

Melissa half heartedly slapped his shoulder.

“You already have, dingus.”

The baby- Eli, cooed up at them, and Melissa guided Bucky's hand down so Eli could wrap a hand around his finger. He was so tiny, so defenceless and fragile. It was a terrifying moment, to think that someone as dangerous as Bucky was allowed to touch something so breakable. So tiny and alive. 

Bucky promised himself he would do all he could to protect this tiny thing. And this was a promise he would never break, not to save his life.

The moment with Melissa was broken by a EMT insisting that they had to leave now, get the mother and child to a hospital, to some proper medical checks. Bucky stood back, waving awkwardly back at Melissa before the doors closed and she, and her tiny baby, were gone.

He sighed with relief.

“You sure do know how to get yourself in trouble, Barnes.”

Bucky whirled around, eyes going wide as they landed on his best friend. Steve, looking beautiful in jeans, a hoodie he was sure belonged to him, and his Starbucks t-shirt. Sam had given it to him as a joke, because of Steve's affinity with modern coffee and his struggles with pop culture. But it was also really soft and soon became Steve's favourite one. It was probably the only one he had that didn't fit to him like a god damned second skin- which Bucky really didn't need to be thinking about now.

“I uh- I learnt from the best.”

It isn't what he wanted to say, but the good grin and look down move it made Steve do meant he didn't mind. His hands twisted in the green scrubs harder as Steve stepped closer too him until they were practically breathing the same air. The other man took in a deep breathe as though gearing himself up to say something, but stopped mid way with his face scrunching up in disgust.

“Jesus Christ, James, you smell awful!”

Bucky barked out a surprised laugh.

“I delivered a baby Rogers, not a bouquet of roses.”

Steve shook his head and scratched at the back of his neck.

“That- that was a real good thing of you to do for that woman.”

“No one else was gonna. I can be good, sometimes.”

“You're good all the time.”

Bucky smiled softly and Steve finally met his eyes. They looked sad again, sad and blue and so much like how they used to look every time Bucky used to stumble home drunk. Sad and disappointed and yet still as loving as they always were.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, almost praying Steve wouldn't be able to hear him over the din of the photographers on the other side of the police tape. But Steve didn't not hear anything any more.

“For kissing me or for running when you did?”

Bucky winced.

“For- … for hurting you again.”

“Buck, you didn't-”

“-didn't ask first, didn't get consent. Didn't think. I did it on feeling and – and I-”

Steve chuckled, and before he could feel hurt or discouraged the other man's large hands were coming up to cup Bucky's face. Gently, oh so gently as if he was something precious. 

Bucky's hands came up to cup Steve's elbows, and he got the distinct feeling that they had been in this position before. Or maybe he had dreamed it. There was no way Bucky had ever done anything so deserving of Steve's gentlest touch and kindest eyes.

“I never really thought you were stupid, Buck. But now I am beginning to have my doubts.”

He went to reel back but Steve's hands were binding.

“I liked it. I liked it that you kissed me.”

But. That. That's- not

“I don’t understand.”

Steve grinned and laughed softly, lowly, and whispered;

“You are so thick, Barnes.”

All feeling dropped away from him but that of Steve. Steve who had pulled him closer and captured his mouth before he could speak. Who was kissing him so softly it made Bucky want to fall to his knees. Softly and steadily, how a proper first kiss should be. Bucky couldn't breath, couldn't think, could only feel for those blissful few seconds before Steve pulled away.

The world came crashing in, the howl or reporters and flash of cameras had increased so much it had become like a wall of sound and light around the couple.

“People,” Bucky breathed, “Are gonna talk.”

“Let them,” Steve murmured, forehead against his so their lips brushed when they spoke, “Let them talk all they want, I'll tell everyone the same thing when they ask.”

“What?”

“That I love you. That I always have and always will. That I am with you-”

“-Till the end of the line.”

They both grinned.

“I'm guessin that you, uh … love me too?”

“Hmmm, nah.”

“James Bu-”

Bucky laughed, too loud and gripped the bigger man closer to him.

“I have always loved you Steven Grant Rogers. When you were small and I pulled you out of the dirt and when you pulled me into fights. And now and always, no matter who we are or will be. I will always love in, no matter what life time I will always love you.”

Steve looked shocked, eyes wide and watery, and his hands were gripping Bucky's face just this side of too tight. Bucky's breath hitched, thinking he had said something wrong. Until a huge gust of air left Steves body.

“Jesus fuck, James. How long have you been holding that in.”

“ 'bout Seventy years.”

The kiss was no surprise this time. Warm and full of too many smiles to really last any length of time. God, was every kiss with him going to be perfect? He should have seen this coming.

“Lets go home,” Steve whispered, hands going down to twine with Bucky's, “I am sick of waiting to be with you.”

“You put out on the first date, Rogers?”

“Or course not. Not as a rule,” a full body blush was spreading over his body as he leant close to Bucky's ear, “But, you haven't taken me on a date yet, Barnes... so I guess the rules don’t apply.”

He was so so lucky that Steve was so close, because the second the other man's voice went rough and low Bucky's knees went wobbly and weak.

Steve almost had to carry him bridal style through the wall of reporters, he felt so light headed. The Captain smiled kindly as he made his way through the crowd, and politely told the more savage reporters where to stick it. Bucky didn't care, nothing else mattered but the man against him. He finally had Steve, he could finally be selfish because someone was being selfish with him. He had his Steve, (best friend, soon to be lover, and centre of the universe) and the rest of the world knew it. 

The whole world knew that Captain America wasn't as straight as they had assumed. When Bucky said this to Steve when they finally got a cab, his smile disappeared and his face filled with panic.

“On god … Tony is going to love this.”

Okay, that was terrifying.

…

the second the more hateful headlines hit all the media channels Tony rigged the tower to display a giant vibrant pride flag all around the outside, alternating between every pride flag after Bruce reminded him to be inclusive of everyone. Thor took the abuse the worst, completely turned around by the idea that earthlings based attraction on gender and sexuality instead of consent and love. The Widow, Barton, Sam and Thor's friend Darcy all exchanged bundles of cash between each other, and the newer recruits all seemed to be planning a pride march or something. 

But Pepper Potts once again proved herself to be Bucky's hero. The CEO set up a press conference and proceeded to give a fiery lecture on heteronormativity, and how the world was bigoted to assume any of them were straight. That they all were the complete opposite in fact. Bucky was pretty sure she got a lot of people fired which was made even more hilarious when he heard she had arranged the whole conference in under ten minutes and presented it in her pyjamas and bunny slippers. Hell fire and Bunny slippers, Bucky's hero.

But Bucky had to hear about all of this three days later, from Rhodey and Jane (the only ones not somehow caught up in planning for the official Stark Industries sponsored Pride Palooza, and that was only because they were sent for snacks). It took him and Steve three days to leave their apartment, and that was only for snacks too.

 

(+1)

“I got fifty big ones riding on you, Barnes! Do me proud sonny!”

Bucky snorted, “You are gambling fifty thousand dollars on me, Barton?”

“...fifty dollars.”

Bucky shook his head and continued to stretch against the three that Barton and Sam were sitting in, covertly organising the betting pool for the afternoon.

Almost the entire team was there, spread out on the lush grass under the trees by the Reflecting Pool. 

Tony, Pepper and Rhodey were spread out on a picnic rug still recovering from fund-raiser induced hangovers while Happy was fluttering around them, paranoid about security. They looked like lounging models in their thick black sunglasses, with only the occasional pained groan giving anything away. 

Tasha was sitting underneath Barton's tree with the twins and their new very green sister, showing them a children’s string trick and speaking the corresponding nursery rhyme lowly in Russian. Coulson (back from the dead apparently) had somehow been roped into holding her knitting while she demonstrated, looking strange so dressed up while holding a half knitted jumper covered in kittens. 

Carol and Banner were speaking to the Spider Woman over a tablet (she, Ant Man, Dr Strange and the other Jessica were left in charge of the tower), and Bruce was blushing around his shy smile. There was something between him and the Spider Woman, and Bucky hoped it came to something. Banner deserved some happiness, and the Hulk was already head over heels for her, which was surprising and scary in equal measure.

Thor was busy staring up at Jane like she hung the stars, as she set up the high speed cameras/monitors with Parker and Maria Hill, as well as a mash-mellow eating Darcy. The Asgardian was also holding a mass of cables that had somehow twisted around his muscular arms and torso (Darcy most likely, was the cause).

And Steve. God Steve was trying to kill him. How could a man be so sexy will stretching for a run? It was criminal. The shirt Bucky had had printed for him, 'On your left!' printed boldly across the chest (“Real fucking funny, Barnes!”), looked like a second skin on him. It was distracting, and Bucky was half convinced Steve was doing all of those tiny, wonderful, noises just to mess with him. He became 100% convinced when he caught sight of the grin Steve was struggling to keep down. Bastard.

“Lets get this show on the road, boys!” a tiny voice sang out as an almost undetectable weight settled on Bucky's shoulder.

“Ready when you are, little darling,” Bucky grinned and looked down at the woman on his shoulder, “You think you can keep up with that camera.”

“You know it, Barnacles,” Janet sing songed, “Just worry about yourself, I have fifty bucks riding on you.”

“Is no one betting on me?” Steve whined and pouted, too over the top to be real.

Bucky grinned.

“They know a winner when they see one.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Fastest kid on the block, remember?”

Steve grinned back, hand coming up to skim the patch of skin exposed at Bucky's waist. He always became more tactile when Bucky showed that he remembered something, his touch becoming a reward.

“Eww, you guy's are giving me cavities,” Wasp groaned before jumping into the air and zipping off to the starting line.

It had been Sam's idea after too many vodka shots, loudly declaring that he had to know if Cap was slower than anyone, and Bucky was the only real threat besides Pietro (who didn't count for some reason in Sam's mind). After two weeks for Sam and everyone else to fully shake what would forever be known as 'The Biggest Fucking Collective Hangover in History', they had finally decided to take up the Falcon's challenge. 

Today they would find out who was faster, Bucky or Steve.

“Come on, old man,” Bucky announced, grabbing the other man's arm and pulling him to stand on the chalk line, “Time to answer the centuries most burning question.”

“Which senior citizen is fastest?” Steve grinned, happy at his joke.

Bucky grinned back, leaning into whisper in Steve's ear- “Exactly how long, and hard Captain America can go for.”

Steve Rogers patented squawk and full body blush. God Bucky had missed causing that.

“Okay boys!” Darcy called, coming over to stand in front of the two super soldiers with a black and white stickers in each hand, “Read for speed racing Miss Daisy.”

Bucky grinned. Darcy was quickly becoming one of his favourite people, pushing her way into his friendship group in much the same way as Barton did. She was also one of the few other people that could trigger a Steve Rogers full body blush, which he too huge amounts of amusement from. 

“Ready when you are, Ma'am,” Steve said with a nod.

Darcy rolled her eyes, and slapped the stickers on the middle of their chests and rubbed over them to make sure they stuck. And rubbed. And rubbed. And rubbed-

“Darcy!” Jane snapped, exasperated at her best friend.

“What? I cant take pleasure in my job! Why do you think I volunteered?”

With a final cheeky smile Darcy stepped away to stand with Jane behind the speed cameras. Bucky and Steve braced themselves as Coulson (sans kitten jumper) stepped up level with them holding a flag and looking like a little boy on Christmas.

“Everyone ready?”

The crowed agreed, with the exception of those on the picnic rug who let out pained protests at the noise. Close enough.

“Okay, Gentlemen. On your marks. Get set …. go!”

The flag hit the ground and they shot off like rockets. Bucky had always preferred relaxing to exorcise, even in his youth. But being friends with trouble maker Steve Rogers meant he got more than his fair share of running for his life. He was pretty good at it back then, good enough for every sports team to want him and for him to start work down at the docks before he was legally aloud too. 

That same ease was present now as he kept up with Steve stride after stride. They were going fast, as fast as any sprint runner in the Olympics, but keeping up that speed lap after lap. Bucky wasn't counting, his heart beating too fast for him to hear anything else, and eyes to focused on that stupid grin of Steve's. They must have gotten over twelve laps when Bucky started to laugh, loud and not at all self-consciously. 

All thoughts of the bet or scientific endeavor left his mind. He felt like he used to. Before the serum's and surgeries, before the war and the sadness. When they were small, and it was summer, and Bucky would run with Steve on his back. His lungs were burning just like they always did, his legs losing feeling as they got faster and faster, and Steve grinning at him like that time after he socked big Jimmy Brown in the nose for kickin puppies.

His body was hurting and he could tell that Steve's was straining, and he felt so so human again. He distantly heard Janet call out “Thirty, whooo!” but he couldn't focus on that, he felt like he was flying, he felt free-

-he felt Steve's foot under his own just a second too late because a second after he and the big lug were tumbling into one of America's most treasured monuments with a huge splash.

They were so going to get an angry letter from the President. Again.

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky has dark thoughts and references itching wrists and kinda says something about giving up, but no suicidal thoughts are addressed and not suicide is attempted or self harm. I don't think I have anything else triggering and i am so so sorry if i miss anything.
> 
> The title comes from the poem 'If' by Rudyard Kipling
> 
> ( good audio copy here; http://speakcelebrity.tumblr.com/post/10546949223/if-by-rudyard-kipling-read-by-dennis-hopper)
> 
> For some reason I really ship Jessica Drew/Bruce Banner, but don't know enough about the comics to right a proper fic so I kinda snuck that in her microscopically. I also used some prompts from Tumblr posts and I am too sick to find the links at the mo, but I will when I am better. 
> 
> I am so sick, so the spelling in this probably sucks in places, I dont have a beta but I have been read through multiple times. Hope you like it!


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